


The Not-So Friendly Skies

by tenaya



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Episode: s02e22 God Mode, Gen, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-27
Updated: 2013-07-27
Packaged: 2017-12-21 13:40:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/900942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenaya/pseuds/tenaya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“As I see it, we’ve a few problems.  John, what’s my priority?” Shaw asked, not bothering to look at the ex-CIA agent.<br/>“To protect the program.”<br/>“The program, which, in reality, is your Machine, Harold.  Do you know who the greatest threat to the Machine is?  Harold?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A missing scene that covers their escape from the Hanford site to well on their way to NYC.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Not-So Friendly Skies

The Not-So Friendly Skies  
by Tenaya

As the small band hustled down the corridor, Sam Shaw felt the itch of a gun sight between her shoulders. It was a relief to finally turn and press her back to the wall as they reached the exit, her gun raised to cover their retreat. John strode past, gun held ready. He cracked open the door and peered cautiously outside. “Clear,” he growled as he pushed the door wide. He held it open as Harold and Root hurried past, Shaw ducking though after them.

The parking lot of the Hanford site was nearly empty now; apparently these employees took the order to evacuate seriously. Their choices were a Lincoln Town car with government plates, a Lexus that Harold had to have arrived in, their own stolen WRX that the Machine had found for them at the Portland airport and a Ford truck. The three cars were parked illegally at the curb and the truck was at the edge of the lot under a tree. The truck must belong to the poor sap that was monitoring an empty room.

“Would Hersh have tampered with our cars?” asked John.

“Highly likely. They’re not safe.” Shaw gestured towards the truck. “Move it!” she ordered Harold and Root. John was already loping across the lot. He had the door opened and the ignition catching by the time the others arrived. 

Shaw couldn't understand why Harold would want to take Root with them. John had briefed her on their history and a normal man wouldn't want to save someone who had killed multiple people and kidnapped him twice. Shaw studied their hurried walk to the car. Harold urged Root on, but his grip on her arm was impersonal and he held himself at a polite distance. Nothing in their body language hinted at a previous intimacy. Odd. Shaw would have bet the older man would have had designs on the younger, pretty but psychopathic woman. So, what the heck was going on between them if it wasn't sex? 

Harold opened the rear passenger door and helped Root inside. He moved to follow her in. 

Shaw grabbed his arm and held him back. She opened the front door. “You, in here.” She shut Root’s door and waited until she was sure Harold could pull himself up and in, then ran for the other side of the truck. It was a tight fit but at least it was a truck that had four doors and a back seat. John gunned the accelerator and the truck’s forward leap slammed her door shut behind her. She pointed her gun at Root and leaned forward. “Give me any excuse.” Her tone made it plain Shaw was hoping Root would try something.

Up in the front seat, John handed his phone to Harold. “I've ordered a corporate jet to meet us at the Yakima airport. Can you call and confirm it will be there within the hour?”

Harold started pushing buttons. “Yes, of course, John.” 

“The flight plan is for D.C. We’ll have the pilot change directions for New York once we’re over Ohio.” 

Harold swiveled to better see his partner, his glasses reflecting the blue tones of the console lights. “Yes, I understand.” Harold lowered his head and started talking softly into the phone.

Shaw switched her attention back to her more immediate problem, the woman who was staring sightlessly out the window. Root hadn't planned for the Machine to creep away to another hidden lair and was probably in deep thought considering her next move. Shaw didn't for a second believe Root was in shock. She simply had made her presence inert and withdrawn from all interaction. Faced with a seemingly vulnerable woman, men would default to their natural instinct to protect young females all the while dismissing them as insignificant. It was a reaction Shaw had used to her advantage many times and she was annoyed that these two men had fallen for the act so completely. They knew Root; they should know better. Idiots.

Fixated on the Machine, Root was still a threat to the program and from Shaw’s point of view, it would be best to push her out of the truck into the lonely desert night and put an end to her with a couple of well-placed bullets. But Harold wouldn't agree to that and apparently John was so whipped by Harold as to do whatever the smaller man wanted. 

And that brought up another problem. Shaw was worried by how Harold controlled John so thoroughly. His carefully modulated voice that dipped to intimate levels had John totally under its thrall. Shaw had thought Harold was a bored billionaire who got his kicks running an ex-CIA assassin on petty, feel good ops. When she saw the newspaper article that pulled Cole’s reputation out of the mud, Shaw had figured Harold had a brilliant hacker at his disposal, too, though she was puzzled why he would attempt something that dangerous to accomplish nothing more than bringing Cole’s parents some comfort. She infiltrated their library and listened long enough to realize Harold was the hacker and that he was up to his well-tailored collar in the running of the ops. It didn't make sense; why would a man that brilliant and rich take dangerous risks if not for the thrills and acknowledgements of his skills? When confronted about the article on Cole, Harold had avoided any complicity with it. And when Shaw and John had arrived at the empty room in Hanford, she had seen Harold standing passively as Root took aim at him with her gun. What the hell was he doing all this for?

This whole thing was a mess and Shaw hated messes. 

POIPOIPOIPOIPOI

Less than an hour later, the airfield was in view. Harold spoke again. “He’s ten minutes from landing. We’ll rendezvous at the eastern edge of the airport.” 

There were no fences or security to deal with; the airport was small enough that it was mainly for private aircraft. John parked next to a hanger and killed the lights. “Wipe down the truck for fingerprints while we wait.”

“I can always hack the databases and remove any evidence we leave.”

“Yeah, but since we have the time, let’s try to leave them nothing at all. Control will be all over this when they find it. We don’t want to give them your prints if possible.”

Harold took out a pocket square and rubbed down every surface in range. “You’re quite right. I…I must admit I've been awake for two days now. I’m not at my best.”

Shaw could see John looking at Root through the review mirror. His stare was cold and hostile, but his voice was soft, reassuring as he replied. “That’s okay. You’ll be able to rest soon.”

The transfer to the jet went smoothly. As soon as the Gulfstream taxied to a stop, they exited the truck. Harold’s limp was more pronounce and John smoothly glided to his side and curled his hand about Harold’s arm, lending stability and support. Shaw’s grip on Root’s arm was decidedly less gentle. She pulled her from the truck and pushed her towards the staircase. “Move.”

Inside the cabin, John had settled Harold onto a couch and was in conversation with the pilot. Shaw pushed Root down in a chair that faced away from the couch. “Duct tape?” she asked the pilot. 

He frowned. “Galley, bottom drawer.”

Shaw nodded at Root. “She panics with air travel. The Valium should hold her until we land, but I’d like to make sure you don’t get any surprises,” she lied easily.

The frown cleared. “Oh. Right.” He turned and headed into the cabin, the door shutting firmly behind him and there it was—the click of a lock. She doubted they’d see the pilot again.

John opened galley cabinet, pulled out three water bottles and took two of them with him into the back of the cabin. The duct tape was easy to find and Shaw ran the tape around Root’s torso and the seat, and her arms and the arm rest. She could hear John talking gently to Harold, encouraging him to drink. The click of a seat belt as he got his boss settled in. 

She leaned in close to Root. “You may have fooled them but not me. I don’t buy this act at all. If you try anything at all, you’ll be dead.” She smiled at Root, baring her teeth. “Anything,” she whispered as she sat down, directly across from her. 

Shaw settled in her chair and drained half the water in one go. Her eyes drifted across the cabin as she took stock of her surroundings. Finally, she let her gaze rest on Harold and John.

Harold sipped some water, and then leaned back. He was obviously exhausted, his face drawn and pale, his hands dangling to his sides. Across the aisle, John gave a slow blink as he lifted his eyes from Harold to her. He stared at her, face void of all expression. He reminded her of a cat in a cage; all stillness, its explosive energy an instant away; she was vaguely surprised his eyes didn't glow with reflected light. She knew he’d come to the same conclusion she had. She turned away and focused her attention back on Root.

Thirty minutes later after the plane had leveled off, she glanced back at John. He was still staring at her, his hands relaxed in his lap. Over on the couch, Harold had opted to lie flat out. His body was utterly limp with deep sleep.

She waited another hour as a courtesy and when Harold woke up enough to shift his position, she got to her feet and went back to the galley. She’d noticed some noise cancelling headphones from her previous search. She gathered that, a basket of snacks and a few more water bottles. She stopped long enough at Root’s chair to pop the earphones on her head and turn them on. She plugged them into the sound system and turned up the music. 

She walked on, dropping the food and water on the couch beside Harold. She placed a hand on his shoulder to catch his attention. “We need to talk.” She took a seat that faced John, ignoring his scowl.

Harold pushed to himself upright, straightening his vest. He blinked owlishly at her and asked, “What can we do for you, Ms. Shaw?” His voice was hoarse and he picked up a water bottle. The sleep had put a little more color into his face.

“As I see it, we've a few problems. John, what’s my priority?” she asked, not bothering to look at the ex-CIA agent. 

“To protect the program.”

“The program, which, in reality, is your Machine, Harold. Do you know who the greatest threat to the Machine is? Harold?”

Harold frowned, obviously running through a list that contained at the very least, Control, Decima, Root and the Chinese. Apparently he was still not at his best.

“John, who is the biggest threat to the Machine?”

John’s scowl deepened. 

Harold frowned at John. The pause stretched out while the two ex-agents waited for the penny to drop. “Me?” he asked, affronted by the very idea.

“Yes, Harold. You. You can be coerced, quite easily it seems, by threatening someone else. Who was it this time?”

“That is none of your concern, Ms. Shaw.” His frown had a distinctly mulish appearance.

Shaw tilted her head as she considered her next feint. “Did you know that Decima knows your name? And that thanks to John’s less than perfect poker face, they know that John knows who you are. They are actively looking for you. What do you think they will do when they find you?”

Harold glanced for confirmation at John, and John, poker face still sadly lacking, looked guiltily away.

“Do you think Control will leave you alone, now that they know you exist--particularly now that the Machine has disappeared? They will make finding you their highest priority.” She leaned forward. “Hersh is relentless and he is very, very good.” 

John shifted in his seat and Shaw could see the idea of Hersh targeting Harold was unsettling. She pressed on. “If you have a social security number, what do you think the odds are that you are tops on the relevant list?”

“The Machine doesn't view me as a threat.” Harold paused and stared at down at his hands. “But Control would place it there, anyway. It would appear that we could use your help, Ms. Shaw. My offer still stands. ”

“And be part of the club that puts trackers on each other? Or makes 911 calls to turn the other one into the police? No thanks.” Strangely, neither of them looked guilty this time. She shook her head.

“What do you plan to do, Ms. Shaw?”

“The Special Counsel once told me that no one life is more important than the safety of millions of Americans. He called it the ugly math. I agreed with him.” 

The sudden stillness inside the jet was complete and time hung still on the thinnest of threads. John’s face had relaxed, his eyes empty and dead. This was his killing face; she’d faced down other, identical expressions in her career. John would try to kill her if he perceived she was a threat to Harold.

She leaned back in her chair. “Of course that was before he had me killed.”

Harold didn't move, didn't even seem to breathe, but his eyes sought out her. “And now what do you believe?”

“You’re the one person who could compromise the Machine, but you’re also the only one that could repair it should someone else attack it.”

Harold sighed. “There is that, if it will let me. It has started to modify its programming; it is…uncertain how it will view any of us in the future.”

Shaw was puzzled. “So you can’t depend on it to help you evade Control?”

Harold and John traded a look. “At one time I would have answered no but I’m unsure anymore.”

“Can you keep him safe, John? I’m not sure your devotion isn't…taken advantage of.”

John smiled, but there wasn't a lot of warmth in it. “Shaw, if you’re not a part of the team, you don’t get to attend team meetings.”

That pissed her off. “You will regret letting her live,” she said, pointing over her shoulder at Root. “I’ll be around,” she said, putting the period on the end of that conversation. She returned to her seat, inspecting Root’s condition on the way back. No change. She settled in her seat and pushed the back into a slight recline. If John was going to spend the flight watching her, he could watch Root as well for a few hours while she napped. 

“Should we ask her for a contact number?” Harold asked tentatively.

“Nah. The Machine will handle that if necessary.”

“I don’t know what the Machine’s priorities are anymore. We can’t predict the future based on past performance if the programming has altered.”

“I think it wants to help the irrelevants, Harold. While we were tracking you, the Machine still had us help two numbers.”

Harold leaned back. “Oh. That is curious,” he said, thoughtfully. 

After a few minutes, John said, “We really do need to talk, Harold.”

Harold glanced over at John and at least had the decency to look worried. “Yes, of course, John, but not here, please.” His voice dipped and even Shaw felt the warmth and intimacy oozing out of the words like a comforting cloud of happy goodness. It was compelling and it was a trap. She scowled. The little shit was doing it again.

John raised his voice. “Mind your own business, Shaw.”

Huh. Maybe John wasn’t as clueless as she thought.

Harold looked confused. “What did I miss?”

“Shaw’s been reading her CIA manual again on interrogation techniques. It’s increased her paranoia to your levels, Harold.”

Harold looked impressed. “A healthy response to our situations, if you ask me. “ 

John smiled and this time the skin at the corner of his eyes crinkled and he gazed fondly at Harold. “It’s good to have you back, Harold. We've got another four hours before we land. Try to get some sleep.”

Harold returned John’s smile. “Thank you for finding me. Again.” Then he raised his voice to be heard over the engine noise. “And thank you, Ms. Shaw, for your assistance. Your accuracy with your side arm was much appreciated.”

Shaw considered how the tiny, shy smile changed Harold’s features entirely, giving him an endearingly sweet expression. He really was a hazard and she closed her eyes against him. “I’ll take your appreciation in the form of explosives and a variety of fire arms.”

There was a pause. “She’s not joking, is she?”

“No.”

“You two share a number of similarities, Mr. Reese; mainly the more disturbing ones.” 

John chuckled. “Yep.” He didn't sound the least embarrassed about it, either. 

Fin

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta'ed, unfortunately. All mistakes are mine.


End file.
